Naked and Talking Pretty

"Look," I said scanning the program last night at David Sedaris' lecture, "he's signing books afterwards! Damnit, I wish I had known, I would have brought one."

"Bummer, me too!" Meghan said.

Turns out they were conveniently on sale in the lobby after the show. Two side-splitting hours later, on our way down the many, many steps from our second-tier balcony seats, Meghan expressed an interest in wanting to get in line.

"You start holding us a place, I'll go downstairs and grab us some books."

"Um, ok," I said a bit reluctantly, "make mine Naked."

Reluctantly because as much as I really do love David Sedaris, and have for years, I didn't really feel the need to stand in line and have him sign something. As long as I would have the opportunity to slowly walk by the table he was sitting at and gawk a bit, I would have been happy.

So I secured us a place at the end of the line. I'm talking, the very end. Then the buzz started spreading through the crowd - this was just the end of one of four lines that were snaking around the halls. Crap.

Ten minutes, and only ten inches of line progress later, Meghan came back with our books. I was trying not to show my growing hesitancy, but lost the battle with myself when she said, "Um, yeah, I heard some of the people working downstairs complaining that they would have to be here for another two or three hours until this was done."

That did it.

"Um, I really don't want to wait here that long. I mean, it would be cool and all, but I can't stay here for another two hours!" I exclaimed in my most passive-aggressive voice. "I actually have plans later."

"With who?"

"Um, this guy I'm starting to see." (More about that later, kiddies.)

"Well, I'm sure he'll understand."

"Uh...." Too many things wrong with that statement to really respond.

"And I'm sure it will start moving pretty soon."

Now I started to feel bad. She had just bought a book that she already owned, and it was clear that she wanted to get some face time with the genius, but there was no way I was cancelling a date with a flesh-and-blood straight man (a classically trained French chef, no less) to get 30 seconds with a gay one. I don't care how many times I've almost peed in my pants reading his work.

I held out for another ten minutes or so. It was painfully obvious that the line was just not moving. She finally realized that and agreed that we could go, even admitting that she didn't really want to be there after midnight either.

"If they don't let you return the books, I'll pay you for them," I offered. Why is it that even when I am right and manage to win small battles, I always feel bad afterwards? "How much were they?"

"$40." Damn. Why did she have to get her copy of Me Talk Pretty One Day in hardcover?

We walked up to the table, inquiring about the return policy.

"Sure, you can return them. But why?" the clerk asked.

"Well, we feel bad, but we were at the very end of the line, and just can't wait around that long."

"Well, here's a secret," he confided, "we actually already have pre-autographed copies of each of these books back here. David signed a bunch beforehand, knowing that this kind of thing would happen, and totally understanding."

"REALLY??!!" We were so excited! How sweet of him! And now I didn't have to feel as bad for Meghan not getting a signed copy, and she didn't have to feel as bad about him seeing us get out of line and walk away (because, surely he was paying attention).

We continued to jabber on about how cool that was. Then our bubble burst slightly.

"Well, he really did it because he figured there would be some little old ladies in the audience who would have to get back on their buses and wouldn't be able to wait in line, but I think it's ok for you to take these copies."

That made us feel slightly guilty for about two seconds, but honestly, how many little old ladies do you know who read David Sedaris?